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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451154">Doritos &amp; Cigarettes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost'>motorghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Groping, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Post-Recall, Prison AU, Prison Visit, Short</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:21:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's in jail; Hanzo pays a visit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>234</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Doritos &amp; Cigarettes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was the March SFW prompt poll winner, and I'm so glad it was! I’d recently seen a play that inspired me to suggest it as a prompt in the first place. It’s angsty, I won’t lie, but ends on a pretty victorious note. I hope. It got to be much longer than your average ficlet, so I thought it deserved its own spot. The drabble collection will only include super-short pieces from now on.</p><p>TW: accurate descriptions of the harshness of the American prison system and implied past violence. Rated M for some Heavy Flirting (still SFW).</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I’m not romancing nor condemning prisoner/non-prisoner relationships. Hanzo and Jesse have had an established relationship for some time prior to Jesse’s incarceration.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hanzo had never been inside of a prison before Jesse went away. No Shimada, in his lifetime nor many others' lifetimes before, had ever been in danger of anything like that happening. Big yakuza families were so deeply ingrained into society that the mere thought was laughable. And none of the brothers who’d managed to slip up spectacularly enough to earn themselves a prison sentence ever warranted a visit from the <em>oyabun</em> himself. Hanzo would have more likely sent someone in his stead, and then only to ensure that the man kept his mouth shut. Perhaps permanently. </p><p>Now, he is being scanned by a corrections officer who looks like he’d rather spit in Hanzo’s face than perform even one aspect of his job with adequate professionalism. He’d ordered Hanzo to empty his pockets and is now brandishing his thin black wand through the spilled contents of Hanzo's wallet, his phone, keys, and lip balm as if one of them might be the detonator to a hidden bomb.</p><p>“You got any gifts for your friend?”</p><p>Hanzo’s eyes narrow. “Obviously not.”</p><p>The CO raises his gaze slowly up to Hanzo’s face, as if he means to be intimidating. Hanzo refrains from laughter; he knows that this officer in particular has been begging for an excuse to deny Hanzo entrance for weeks now. But he won’t get what he wants.</p><p>“Good boy.”</p><p>The officer waves him forward. Hanzo, refusing to look away, takes his sweet time putting every last credit card, ID form, and bill back into his wallet.</p><p> </p><p>|||</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My darling Hanzo.</em>
</p><p>Hanzo repeats the first two words of Jesse’s last letter to him over and over, keeping time with the ceiling fan's lazy oscillation. Then he repeats other phrases—all Jesse McCree originals, memorized like favored poetry. The two killers started their relationship almost six months ago, but through a month's worth of letters, they have grown more intimate thatn Hanzo ever expected himself to find, let alone this late in life. Jesse has grown softer, more affectionate. Always spinning fancies about what he's doing, what Hanzo is doing. What he plans for when he gets out. His prose is beginning to approach floral, but Hanzo can’t say he minds.</p><p>The meeting room is sparser than it was last week. The weather has been poor; Hanzo imagines that makes the long trip upstate more difficult for most. But he does spot a pair he sees every weekend: a young mother with her little girl, both wearing the same dresses they wore the weekend before.</p><p>The little girl catches Hanzo’s eye and he looks away. </p><p>Then that horrible, blaring noise goes off, and there he is. Hanzo stands so that Jesse will see him better, but it’s unnecessary; Jesse’s eyes go to Hanzo as if magnetized the second he appears behind the glass wall. His face breaks into a huge smile that persists until he’s standing in front of Hanzo’s table. As if they didn’t see each other just seven days before.</p><p>“Hey, sugar.”</p><p>Hanzo speaks under his breath, still uncomfortable with being so open in front of others. “Hello.” He sits down, and Jesse follows suit. “You still look well.”</p><p>And he does. Jesse clean-shaven shows off his square jaw, his Cheshire-cat smirk. His brown arms are sinewy under his sleeves, veins more visible in his hands and forearms. Hanzo can tell that the muscles of his chest and back have grown. Even his neck looks bigger.</p><p>But there’s something else. A gauntness in his cheeks, a darkness under his eyes. A leanness that doesn’t quite match the robust, jovial gunslinger that Hanzo knew before. And the knotted sleeve tied up over his left arm still puts the sickening bile of pure injustice in Hanzo's gut; they didn’t let him keep the prosthetic. They claimed that he had no use for one while in prison, but really, they probably just figured that a one-armed Jesse would be much more easily controlled. They even shot down Hanzo's request to grant him another, less lethal prosthetic in its place.</p><p>“You seem...”</p><p>“Leaner?” Jesse leans back in his chair “Small meals and a lot of yard time will make anyone swol."</p><p>“It suits you,” Hanzo mutters, though he doesn’t wholly mean it.</p><p>Jesse looks like he can tell, but he smiles anyway. “Thanks, darlin’. You always look good.” His eyes sweep freely over Hanzo and his head gives a little shake, as if in disbelief. "Good enough to eat. As usual. Fuck."</p><p>Hanzo can’t help the burn that blossoms over every inch of his skin. Being apart for so long has been hell, and Jesse’s open lust never helps; every time they meet feels like the climax of a smutty paperback.</p><p>Talk of Jesse's case puts an effective damper on things. They discuss it for a long time, turning it this way and that, as if turning over old details will reveal new facets for exploitation. Winston is sure that the UN will see reason before they have to go to trial. Jesse seems encouraged, but not as much as Hanzo would like.</p><p>He wonders how much of Jesse’s optimism exists just so that he doesn’t drag Hanzo’s spirits down with him. But he’d never ask.</p><p>“Ana made you something.”</p><p>Hanzo tries not to feel jealous when Jesse’s eyes perk up. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>He feels around the inside of his jacket and pulls out a small cloth sewn temporarily onto the lining: a beautiful yellow sun over a reddish sunset, embroidered with black Arabic writing. “She said it was from the Quran.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jesse chuckles, taking it from Hanzo and quickly hiding it up the sleeve of his jumpsuit. Always so quick with his hands. “I know which one it is.”</p><p>His smile is warm and private, so Hanzo looks away. Jesse is granted so little privacy nowadays. He may as well have this.</p><p>But Jesse sighs and speaks before the moment has stretched too long. “I’m in jail and Ana’s gettin’ into needlework. What’s the world come to?”</p><p>“You will be free soon.” Hanzo pauses, tries to hide his struggle to find words. “I know how hard this is for you.”</p><p>The night Jesse told Hanzo how he’d come to join Overwatch—Hanzo'd had a low opinion of Overwatch before, but it only sank further after that. A young criminal, head of his own gang, forced to choose between servitude or life in prison. Hanzo does not know what he would have chosen. Probably whichever provided him the best opportunity for a quick and righteous death.</p><p>Jesse shrugs. “It ain’t nothin.’”</p><p>“It is not nothing, Jesse.” Hanzo leans forward, fixes Jesse with all the emphasis he can muster. “It is… just because I would deal with a situation like this differently than you does not mean that one is better. You are…”</p><p>It is not often that Hanzo struggles to find words; if he doesn’t know them immediately, he easily prefers to say nothing. But Jesse needs words. And, right now, it is all Hanzo can truly offer.</p><p>“You are not a man for keeping in a cage. It is no dishonor to grieve your freedom.”</p><p>Jesse’s looking at Hanzo in the same way he does when he’s about to kiss him; Hanzo immediately feels his face flush, cursing his own over-reactive responses to every little thing Jesse does.</p><p>“Honey,” Jesse croons, extending his hand, which Hanzo immediately takes, “You got any idea how perfect you are for me?”</p><p>Hanzo closes his mouth to keep himself from sputtering. He looks around as if someone may be watching.</p><p>Because someone always is. “Hey! Hands to yourself, inmate!”</p><p>Jesse detaches, leans back in his chair. He doesn’t acknowledge the CO more than that; his eyes are still tending flames on Hanzo’s face.</p><p>A part of Hanzo, small and secret, relishes the fervent affection Jesse directs his way through all of this while another part—even smaller, even more secret—prays it will not dissipate in the air of Jesse's renewed freedom.</p><p>“Your letters leave little room for doubt,” Hanzo mutters, testing a smile.</p><p>“I meant every word, sugar. Christ Jesus, I’m gonna spoil you when I get outta here. Dinners, trips, you name it. Never gonna let you forget what you mean to me. Old gangster like me, snatchin’ up a gem like you? Best heist I ever got away with.”</p><p>“You hardly got away with anything,” Hanzo smirks at the table, chuckles, “You are… a finely cut gem yourself.”</p><p>Jesse leans forward just enough so that the table and his shoulder hides the way he unzips the front of his jumpsuit. Hanzo’s eyes become twin lasers as Jesse tugs up the bottom of his white undershirt, showing off the firm, hairy grid of his stomach. He leans in and whispers, slow and syrupy like he knows Hanzo likes, “That’s all for you, baby. All of me is gonna be all for you.”</p><p>Hanzo knows Jesse is not the guards’ favorite inmate, knows they already have a few strikes against them for their behavior in the visiting room, but he still doesn’t hesitate to reach forward and run his hand from Jesse’s belly all the way up his rising pectorals. “Rest assured, Jesse. I will take everything you have to give.”</p><p>Jesse bites his bottom lip, takes Hanzo’s hand and pushes it over his heart. “That’s all yours too, angel.” </p><p>Hanzo's face graduates to a full inferno just as the CO shouts, “Hey! What did I say, inmate? Zip up that uniform!”</p><p>This time, Jesse does glower a little at the CO, zipping himself up as slow as he pleases. Hanzo grins, thinking of himself during his pat-down.</p><p>Then he eyes the clock on the wall and sighs through his nostrils; their visits are always too short.</p><p>“Promise me you will continue to take care of yourself, Jesse.”</p><p>“‘Course I will.”</p><p>“Hana, specifically, will kill you once you get out if you do not.”</p><p>“I expect so, yeah.”</p><p>“And do not hesitate to ask for anything, even if it is small. I sent you some money before I arrived.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to do that, Han.”</p><p>“Nonsense. You deserve some pleasures while you are here. And I am not about to fault you for wanting Doritos and cigarettes.”</p><p>Jesse leans like he wants to kiss Hanzo, and Hanzo leans too, but then they both stop as if pulled taut by chains. A darkness sweeps over Jesse’s face at the knowledge of an invisible leash, and if the feeling in Hanzo’s chest is any indication, his face looks just the same.</p><p>“What do you say,” Jesse drawls, low and tender, “We end this visit on our own terms?”</p><p>Hanzo doesn’t need convincing. He stands up only a half second ahead of Jesse and they yank one another into a feverish kiss. Hanzo’s hands curl into fists on Jesse’s jumpsuit, then run up to his throat, then his jaw, then his hair, wanting to touch all of him at once; Jesse moans against his tongue and rubs his thumb across Hanzo’s cheek like he wants to press his signature into the skin. He tastes too clean, too metallic, but still just like Jesse. Like a fire scratched into being in a cold and dark place. As precious as the sun.</p><p>"HEY!"</p><p>This time, the CO pulls them apart, and yanks Jesse back to the glass wall. Hanzo watches him go until he is no longer visible, and then leaves immediately, not even pushing in his chair. The little girl, now chatting with her daddy, pauses their conversation to wish him good-bye, and Hanzo hesitates just long enough to wish her the same.</p><p> </p><p>|||</p><p> </p><p>Fury keeps him still in his car for half an hour before he manages to pull back onto the highway. He only quells the rage by making Jesse a silent promise: if Overwatch doesn’t pull through for him in the next two months, Hanzo will.</p>
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